


A Game of You

by ashflower



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: F/M, Hope, Light Angst, teenage romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-20
Updated: 2020-09-25
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:34:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25394698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashflower/pseuds/ashflower
Summary: Flowers—for insurance, for when you meet again, and lest things go wrong; and a shoulder to cry on for when another boy breaks your heart. Akashi is there at both times and his presence is both a grace and a curse, and when it comes to games—shogi; love—you are only partially educated on the matter. Yet no matter your persistence to rectify your ignorance, it seems, you are destined to be on the losing side.This, Akashi has decided from the start.[Akashi Seijuro/F! Reader; a revision of an older fic.]
Relationships: Akashi Seijuurou/Reader
Comments: 6
Kudos: 32





	1. trial and error.

**Author's Note:**

> I originally wrote this fic back in 2014 on gotvg. It is one of my pride and joys, and I have decided to revise the fic to repost here. The plot is still the same and most of the writing/grammar is still the same aside from a few changes, and will retain a similar structure to how it was originally posted. Nevertheless, I hope that older and newer readers still enjoy it!

“ _Ote._ ”

“What?”

“I have won.”

“Already?” 

You peer over the shogi board carefully, inspecting all of the pieces in front of you. The eight year old you does not understand the rules of the complicated game, and the confusion is evident on your face. 

The boy before you, only a year older than yourself, begins to explain in precise detail the rules of the game, and gives you a retelling of how he claimed your King in order to win. 

Your focus gets lost amongst the calm timber of his voice. He is much more articulate than yourself, calmer in his explanation than any other boy either your age or his. It is hard not to admire the easy confidence he has.

“Do you understand?” he asks, although he already has the suspicion that your attention has long been placed elsewhere. 

You smile guiltily in response, and even though he is still a child himself, the look in his eyes makes him seem older. Nevertheless, he smiles as politely as he can, pushing away any contempt he may have to the back of his mind. You are, after all, a guest of his residence—a child of friends of his parents.

“I’m sorry.” You tuck away some loose strands of hair behind your ear, and look down bashfully. Then, you glance up at him through long lashes, and your gaze is hopeful and he supposes that he cannot really blame you for not being able to pick up on the complex nature of the game. After all, even adults struggle to comprehend shogi. How can he expect for someone like _you_ to understand? 

The rules of exception do not apply to you.

“If it is alright with you, I think I will learn better if we just play.”

_Hands-on experience, huh?_

The curve on the edge of his lips stretch. It is barely a difference from his previous one, but the change is significant none-the-less. However, it still does not reach his eyes.

He resets the tiles. 

After a few more rounds, when the sun is already beginning to set and the clock on the wall dictates another hour gone by, you finally huff in defeat. 

He has won. _Again._

“I don’t like shogi,” you decide.

He smiles, expectantly. “While not mutually exclusive, I do suppose that defeat is can be a determining factor in how much one is fond of something.”

You are not sure if you really understand his big words, and your reply is much more simpler than his. Yet somehow, they seem to have hold a much more bigger impact than his.

“But, Akashi-kun… In the future, can we still play again?”

Red eyes widen. Despite his young age, Akashi Seijuro has never found an opponent who wanted more. Even adults would grow tire of suffering from loss repeatedly, so how could a child not mind? 

But the look in your eyes still remains ever hopeful—ever eager, and he finds himself nodding his head. This time, the smile on his lips is light-hearted, and his eyes curve. 

“Then, let’s play again in the future.”

****

**. . .**

32-84.

These are the numbers that the electric boards. Underneath those numbers are the names of the schools associated with them: Kinsei vs. Teiko.

It is over a 50-point difference and even though you know that your brother school had done their best, the feeling of loss is cold within your stomach. It is hard to digest in their loss when you know just how much effort Kinsei had put into their team; how each and every one of their players had trained until they could not do much else; how many hours and days and _years_ they dedicated into their passion. 

Maybe it is bias for having grown up with them. Maybe is is your affiliation with the school and their members; maybe it is for another reason that you have yet to voice aloud, but their loss stings, and it is hard for you to not take it personally. 

You rise from your seat and run down the steps of the bleachers, towards the court where Kinsei’s basketball team stands. All of the players look like they have had their souls taken from them —bleak eyes and rigid postures— while the opponent team stands on the opposite side celebrating their win. 

“Thank you..” Like a spell, your words catch their attention and they slowly shift from their zombie-like appearance. “You’ve worked hard all this time… Thank you.” 

Although they have lost, there is no denying the hard work and effort that they have put into their passion. All of those hours that they have dedicated, all of those years—it cannot just evaporate with a mere loss. Whether they are convinced, that is hard to tell. Even the Captain of Kinsei’s Basketball Team seems uncertain. After all, if they had worked hard, then why did they lose? 

His hazel eyes are rimmed with red, and it makes your heart clench sorrowfully. He does not cry. As the Captain, he cannot. And so, it is you who does. In his place, you carry the burden for him. In his place, you cry for him. In his place, you become brave for him.

“Although you have lost, no one can fault you for it. It is simply that the other team is stronger, that is all.” You bow to them, and your eyes catch the floor— “Thank you for working hard.”

Yes, they have lost.

Yes, they have poured all of their blood, sweat, and tears into this loss, but—they did their best. In the place of defeat is experience. They shall take this memory not as a loss, but as a stepping stone for them to strive to become better—bigger—stronger. 

“We did our best,” Kenta declares, and like a healing spell, life starts to appear back onto the faces of his teammates. “Although we did not win, there is no fault in it. In the future, we can only do better. These years we have spent together is not to be tainted with this loss; it is not something that can be taken away from us.”

He turns to his teammates, and, like you, bows towards them. “Thank you for working hard!”

Such proud words return the vigor to the other boys, and with newly ignited relief, the gloomy atmosphere disappears. 

Kenta turns to you and offers a dimpled smile. It is unspoken, but he is thankful for your presence and you return the gesture with one of your own. 

When he leaves, the backs of his basketball team are sturdy and unshakeable.

It brings a relief to your heart, and, you think, they will be alright.

When you finally turn on your heel, intending to return to your own schoolmates whom you had left behind, you finally notice now the captain of the other team. It has been a long time since you had last seen him, but Akashi Seijuro’s aura is still as overwhelmingly powerful as always. You are only half a court away from each other, but his gaze is sharp and as piercing as ever. It makes you straighten your back and you wipe away the tears that have yet to dry from your cheeks, and walk towards him.

“It has been a long time,” he says, when you are within reach. 

“It has,” you agree, vividly aware of the gazes of his other teammates on you, but all that you can focus on is that he is the leader of the powerful team. It is scary to think that you had once spent many-a-days of your childhood with this frightening person. 

But then he smiles at you, one that does not reach his eyes, but his overall appearance is as noble and charming as ever.

“I wouldn’t have pegged you to be the sporty type,” he muses. 

“Kinsei is my brother-school,” you explain. “Suoh also in the city for a performance.”

“Yes, that’s right. Kinsei and Suoh are sibling-schools.” He seems thoughtful for a moment, but it is only an exaggerated silence to emphasize his next statement. “Though, I failed to realize how close the two schools really were, it seems.”

His words are honey-veiled, but you are not embarrassed for your emotional display earlier. 

“Hanazawa-kun is a good senpai to me.”

“He seems to be more than that.”

You look away, and he hums, seemingly amused. 

It’s not something that you wish to discuss with someone that you only vaguely know, and so you change the subject.

“Congratulations on your win, Akashi-kun.” The irony is biting. You wonder if this can be considered a betrayal towards your own peers, and cringe at the thought.

The knowing look on his face feels heavy and a little bit unnerving. You do not like being this transparent in front of him, but Akashi does not press the subject any further. He thanks you for the words, even if it is half-empty and unnecessary. You are sure that he is used to words of praise. 

“Your performance,” he starts, “Is this the one for the government scholarship?”

You nod. “Suoh has always participated in the competition, and this year is no exception.”

“Perhaps, I should come to show my support tomorrow as well?” he offers, though you suspect that you would likely see him there regardless of your consent or lack thereof. 

Although you are hesitant, you do not reject the idea. Perhaps he is just being courteous—he always has been well-mannered.

“Then, I will show my support for you tomorrow as well,” he says. “It was a pleasure to see you today.”

“Yes, you as well.”

As the both of you turn your separate ways, you hear a loud voice from behind you. They call out to Akashi, and you catch a glimpse of their conversation—

“Man, I didn’t know you knew any girls, Akashi!” 

“She is just someone I was acquainted with when I was younger, Daiki.”

“…Is she single?”

You’re unable to help the smile on your lips. Although the situation is not the most ideal one, you are glad to know that the red-haired boy is doing well. Even when you grew up together, he had always intimidated others… He was always sociable enough, but there was always an aura around him that made people cautious of him.

At least, according to your brother who had taken some lessons with him growing up.

When you return to your own peers, they are quick to ask you about your relationship with Teiko’s basketball captain. 

“He is a family friend,” you explain to your curious peers. 

“He’s the captain, right?” One asks, although her voice suggests that she is asking for confirmation. “…It’s kind of scary to think that he’s the one that controlled the game so well. They call them the Generation of Miracles, so your friend must be _something_ to be able to lead them like that…”

Her statement makes you pause in wonder. Although you are from different schools and different cities, you have also heard of the famous moniker of Teiko’s basketball team. Everyone says that they are undefeated: five — although you have heard of a sixth player — unmatched players with the ability to decimate all that stand in their way. 

In recent weeks, you have heard of their ruthless nature… Of how they maim and ravage their opponents until they are nothing…

But you can’t imagine Akashi being that scary. 

“Akashi-kun is a good person.”

You defend him out of obligation, but, when you meet the unconvinced looks from your peers, you find yourself feeling uncertain as well.

His arrival is natural and confident. All of the girls are naturally curious about the well-dressed youth who manages to make his way backstage—he must be the son of a director or well-connected person to be able to have access to the dressing rooms. 

There are rules, after all, but he seems to be the exception to them.

Nevertheless, even with all of the glances and hearsay that travels along his path, he remains undeterred until he reaches you. In his hands is a bouquet of yellow roses and white liatris, and when he offers it out to you, you can’t help the blush that arises to your cheeks.

“For you,” he says, smiling charmingly. 

Although you accept the flowers with a thanks, you remain unsure of how else to respond. The attention that you receive is unnerving, and you shift in your spot. 

When he notices the atmosphere, he asks, “Is this not appropriate?”

“…If you were able to make it past security and none the directors said anything, then I’m sure it’s fine. We’re not typically allowed to have guests backstage, that’s all.”

“I see. I was not aware.”

You tilt your head in response, and glance at him curiously. It is not a normal response to hear. The relatives of your friends would have to get permission to enter; even some of their parents would be hard-pressed.

Then again, you realize, this _is_ Akashi Seijuro. You might not be in Kyoto, but you are sure that his surname isn’t one to be easily ignored in Tokyo either.

“Perhaps it is a little too much, anyway?” he asks.

He leans into you suddenly, allowing you to see his features clearly. The red and gold of his eyes are mesmerizing, but have they always been like that? The slight curve of his lips indicate that he is in a teasing mood. His eyebrows are perfectly sculpted along his brow line; not thick, but not too thin either. And, you have never noticed it before, but the pupils and even the shape of his eyes remind you of a cat.

You swallow hard, and grip the edge of vanity behind you. He’s a little bit too close for comfort, and you would like to maintain a reasonable distance. 

And… It does not feel right, when the image of a boy with brown hair and dimples and hazel eyes flashes into your mind…

You hear a crinkle. 

When you follow the sound, you see Akashi patting the bouquet of flowers. His gaze catches yours, and if possible, your cheeks go even redder.

“—Considering how easily excitable your peers seem to be.”

You look away, caught and unable to deny. 

“Aren’t all girls, at this age?”

He laughs, and you look at him once more. He’s laughing, but his voice sounds hollow and the amusement does not reach his eyes. 

You frown, but don’t question him about his strange actions, and Akashi rises. He smiles perfectly at you, manufactured and polite. 

“I don’t think that it needs to be said, but good luck with the performance.” 

You thank him once more, and the second that he departs, your best friend takes his place. She whistles low upon the sight of the flowers.

“And just who is this unexpected newcomer who has arrived to woo the heart of our dearly beloved protagonist?”

You cross your arms at her. 

“Did you see his suit? It’s Thom Browne, isn’t it?” she continues, although her eyes are still on the flowers. Her eyebrows furrow, and you wonder what for. “…Hey, isn’t he that guy from Teiko?”

“I don’t know if it was Thom Browne, but yes, Akashi-kun is the captain of their basketball team.”

“…So he definitely saw you with Kenta yesterday, but he still came backstage to cause a scene?” Her eyes flash up with a sly look, and you roll your arms and playfully smack her on the shoulder. 

“Please, don’t.”

She laughs, but you notice how distracted her gaze is. “You don’t often see these two flowers mixed together.”

“Is it a bad thing?”

Her lips purse. Sakuya’s family dabbles in agriculture and her family has also had a long line of ikebana artists. It was actually how your mothers met. She would know more than most people the significance of flowers and plants. 

“Well, the flowers can mean friendship—you’ve been friends with him for a long time, right?”

“Yes.”

“But the liatris… They mean “I’m sorry”. So did you guys get into a fight or something?”

“No. We are actually not that close.”

Although her puzzlement remains, Sakuya does not press the issue any further. “Maybe I’m just overthinking it. What do guys know about flowers, anyway, right?”

She doesn’t seem convinced, and it doesn’t help ease your discomfort either. But perhaps sensing it, she laughs loudly. 

“Hey! It’s a sweet gesture regardless. If I got a bouquet like this, I’d be happy for the entire week!”

“Why do you need a bouquet when you have an entire botanical garden?”

Growing up, your parents have always taught you to be discernible in your judgement. Speak good words, do good deeds, and maintain a clear heart. As such, you have never been a partaker in hearsay. You have always chosen to keep your voice to yourself and not intervene if you did not have any kind words to say. You know the impact that words carry; how cruel and damaging they could be. 

But just because you abide by these rules does not mean that it is the same for everyone.

You think that it is not really a surprise when your encounters with the Akashi heir spreads like wildfire amongst your peers. But it is surprising to find out that it has also travelled to your brother school. 

Nevertheless, one afternoon, you find an excuse to walk over to Kinsei. You would rather clear up any misunderstandings yourself. So many years of relationship should not be ruined by something fabricated, and you locate your crush in a classroom, cleaning up. 

Sunlight casts a golden hue over the entire room, but it is nothing in comparison to the boy who stands in the middle of it, with his back turned, diligently stacking chairs. 

“ _Senpai_ ,” you greet.

He turns around in surprise, but then relaxes instantly and smiles. “Hey.”

You don’t really like smalltalk, so you cut to the chase. “I know the there are rumours going around… But I thought that you should know—they are not true.”

“I know.” 

But why does he sound so cold and distant?

If he knows, then why is he acting like a stranger towards you? 

“Senpai, I—“

“I think I’m going to study abroad next year.” He looks away, off into the distance where you can hear cheers from the baseball team practicing outside.

You still, processing the news. You don’t understand. Why is he going away? So suddenly? Without warning? Didn’t he say he was going to go to Rakuzan next year? 

This time, it is you who looks away. “Is that so…”

But you _do_ understand. It is not uncommon for children of the upperclass to attend schools abroad. You have had friends in the past who have gone; even your brother had chosen to attend high school overseas. Your sister, after she graduated high school, even went to university in another country…

“I’m going to quit basketball, too,” he says. But this—this is even more shocking news to hear. You turn to him with wide eyes, unable to understand. “You know that I’m the only son, right? And my dad is getting old, too, so… So, when I’m done school… When I’m older…” He will inherit the company.

Words get caught on his tongue— ~~Will you wait—~~

His hands curl by his side. He bites down on those words, and closes his eyes. “I can’t keep chasing after dreams that I can’t afford, anymore.” _I can’t keep chase after you with empty promises._ “I wanted to win this last match for sentiment, but it wasn’t possible, in the end…”

He laughs, and it sounds hollow and empty when once upon a time, it used to be bright enough to light up the entire room. 

“I wanted to do a lot of things, actually.”

“…You should do what you want, senpai.” If he could just say the words, then you are willing. But he is not, and instead of giving you hope to hold onto, he finally meets your gaze.

“…Yeah.” 

It’s not easy—not for people like you, who have expectations placed upon them since birth. There is not always the luxury of a choice. 

Suddenly, he walks towards you now. He brings a hand towards you, only to retract it just before it reaches your face. It falls to his side, just like that.

“We’ve already known each other for more than half our lives, haven’t we?”

“…Yeah.”

“You’re one of my oldest friends, you know that?” 

You laugh. “What about Sakuya?” They had known each other since before any of you had even entered school…

He grins wryly. “Well, don’t tell her. But I like you a little bit more than her.”

“…Just a little bit?”

You’re still holding onto hope, but Kenta is adamant. He smiles, though it is bitter, and once again, holds his tongue.

“…It was nice to see you today.” he says. “The school uniform really doesn’t do you justice… You look much better in a kimono.” Your eyes widen—could it be? Had he been there to watch you performance? You did not know. He steps back, the smile gone from his lips now. Replacing it is a firm line, and indifference upon his face; a mask that he is forced to wear to hide his truest thoughts and emotions. “I’ll see you around.”

He won’t. 

He won’t because he is going to graduate in only a few months and—and he’s planning to go away from you forever and—

_I like you, senpai. Please don’t go. Please give me a chance, even if it’s temporary. I don’t want to lose out on what could have been…_

_My first love…_

You don’t move from your spot, and maybe it’s too much for him, because even though his clean up duties are unfinished, he starts to move past you. 

When he does, you smell the scent of spring—

“Take care of yourself,” he says.

He stills, suddenly hesitating. His mouth opens, but no words come out; it is a confession not ready to be spoken nor heard, passing by him due to the interchanges of time. He finally settles on another smile, this time, one that shows only the faintest hint of his heart, and he pats you on the shoulder, and carries on.

When he leaves, he takes the scent of spring along with him.

_—we just weren’t meant to be._

The tears won’t stop falling. 

You have the willpower to wait until you are home to cry, at least. But once you do, you are unable to stop. Your pillow drowns with your tears and heartbreak, as you finally allow your heart to fall to pieces, letting the burden and presence of happiness to unravel in secret. No one hears the muffled sounds coming from your room. No one notices the tears that drown you nor the heartbreak that makes it hard for you to breathe.

However…

By the window, where the curtains blow from the pleasant breeze, a bouquet of yellow and flowers keep you company. They seem to grow from the nourishment of the sunlight; seem to grow erect from basking in the warmth of the sun, as if brought to higher degrees of life.

They are… 

cheerfully mocking.


	2. Wildcard

_Click._

Tock.

_Clack._

Silence, then—

The pitter-patter of rainfall hitting against the arched windows.

The plethora of noises seem louder than they actually are in the otherwise silent room. Perhaps it is your sensitivity that makes you more attuned to the sounds in the vast room, but it is enough to break your concentration on your book anyway. You bookmark the page that you are on and shut the novel close as you glance up to your companion who is sitting by the window, a shogi board set up on the table in front of him.

His eyes are lowered and one arm rests against the armrest as he cups his chin in that hand; the other taps in absent habit against the end of the chair. With one leg crossed over the other as he sits against the seat, he looks as casual and relaxed as ever. 

You have the suspicion that he has either forgotten about your presence completely, or has decided that you are not important enough for his attention.

It is a little bit unsettling, to be honest, because you do not understand why he has invited you over if he is just going to ignore you. 

It has been a few months since your reunion with the Akashi Seijuro, but you find that nothing has changed significantly between the two of you other than the fact that you see each other more frequently now. However, you suppose that might be due to his move back to Kyoto — it certainly does make the travel easier, you think, and you smile a bit wryly at the thought. You do not know if this is what you can call friendship; actually, you consider it more of a courtesy to your father’s business partners. Your relationship still has not changed significantly as you still do not talk very much, let alone know much about each other. What he likes, and what he doesn’t, most, if not all, of it is still a mystery to you.

Then again, you don’t think that it is really fair to Akashi because while he has also been rather indifferent towards you, it is true that you have also remained mindful of him, though primarily because you are admittedly a bit intimidated by him as well.

Suddenly, he shifts in his seat. He leans over and reaches for a cup of tea by the shogi board.

Your father has taught you before to judge things with your own eyes, and, with his reminder in mind, you push yourself up from your own seat to walk across the room towards him.

“Do you mind if I watch you play, Akashi-kun?”

Without even looking up, he sets down his cup of tea, leans towards the table, arms on his knees, and stares hard at the shogi board. After a moment, he reaches for a piece and moves it accordingly, then, finally deigns to answer you, “I do not mind.”

You nod and take the seat opposite of him, and scan the playing board. You are not a master of shogi, and you still don’t really understand the rules of the game. It has been a long time since you have played and you are not entirely sure of what is going in front of you, but it seems that Akashi has purposefully put himself into a difficult position.

Although he has still not met your gaze, his hands move towards the tea set by the side of the table and he effortlessly pours you a cup of the steaming drink, and offers it to you.

“Thank you.”

He hums in assent, and it is silent yet again. But after a moment, as he finally makes a move to conquer a new piece, he suddenly asks you, “Would you like to play?”

His offer startles you, but you reply, “I am still not very good. I don’t think that I have played since we were children.”

You can see the curves of his cheeks rise even though he still does not look at you. However, he speaks with such a casual and calming tone that it makes you forget how he, even after spending the entire morning with you in the confined room due to a weather-related mishap in your original plans, has still not taken a single glance at you. 

“I do not mind teaching you again,” he says. Despite it being a suggestion, he is already beginning to reset the tiles. 

You quickly bring your hand to cover his in effort to stop him, and just as your touch makes contact with his skin, he eyes flash, burning you in your spot. There is an oddity in his eyes, you can tell. Something that you’re not too sure of what it is, only that it paralyzes you immediately, but you can’t find it in you to look away.

Meeting his gaze carefully, you pull your hand back, and apologize. “I just… I would like to play like this, if that is alright.”

The careful dissection in his eyes disappear slowly, fading to the recesses of his intimidation, and instead, a twinkle comes forth in his eyes, shining of mirth and amusement. It is a stark contrast to his earlier gaze, and you briefly wonder if it had been your imagination at play. If your pre-conceived caution of him that has anything to do with it. 

“If that is what you would like, then it is also alright with me.”

Without even realizing it, you let out a relieved breath, and smile as your eyes fall back onto the game in front of you. It seems that regardless of whatever move you make, there will certainly be a trap or consequence that either party will suffer from. His side will suffer less, you note. It is not something where an escape or win will be easy. If you want to win, then everything will have to be calculated in precise detail and made ten steps ahead.

However…

It really only takes one piece to change the course of the game.

_Click._   
_**Conquer.** _

When you look up at the boy across from you, eager to see his reaction, you find that he looks mildly surprised, but that momentary expression is quickly replaced by further amusement.

“…Is this not okay?” you ask, suddenly feeling unsure of yourself.

He shakes his head, smiling, then chuckles quietly to himself, as if in on some kind of inside joke and you feel heat rise to your cheeks. 

“It is bold.” He says, and you are not sure whether he is ridiculing you or praising you. “You have received my knight.”

You do not know either that is a good thing anymore, in that you have gotten one of his pieces. Rather, the impression you get is that you are a foolish little girl, and it is only confirmed with his next statement—

“It certainly _is_ reckless.” 

Effortlessly, he reaches over to place a tile over your own lance, and conquers it easily. When you look down at what is left on the battlefield, you find that his promoted knight is merely two tiles away from your gold general. 

“You have left your gold general unguarded,” he explains.

If you take out this knight of his, then it will only leave you to enter a trap where you will be surrounded by a promoted bishop on one side, and a rook on the other. 

Perhaps Akashi is expecting something other of you, like a flustered reaction, or perhaps even embarrassment at your own overconfidence. 

If you are honest, then, for a moment there, he even had _you_ worried that you had made a wrong move. However, you know that is not necessarily the case.

“…Sacrifices must be made, I suppose.” No longer unsure of yourself, the smile graces your features once more, and you elegantly make another move.

It goes on like this for a while. You are not quick at making your moves. You are cautious and careful, but Akashi does not mind. None of your moves are surprising because they are all certainly viable options, but, they are still surprisingly bold, and he finds amusement in your demeanour. 

It is not long before he realizes what you are doing: you are clearing a path for your silver general.

When he looks up at you, he finds that you are still smiling, like you too, are in on some kind of inside joke.

And he will let you have this one, he thinks — this joke that amuses you so, because regardless of your unpredictability, he will win.

From even before you entered the battlefield, Akashi had already been in control of the game.

****

**. . .**

Sighing, the blonde-haired girl beside you sends you a questionable glance. There is pity, embarrassment, and also incredulity. You counter with a sheepish smile, and she rolls her eyes then bumps her shoulder into yours.

“Honestly,” Sakuya chides. “How does someone ruin their phone by forgetting it in the freezer?”

You grimace at the thought. 

The previous night, when you had helped your mom to put away the groceries, you had accidentally misplaced your phone into the freezer. You spent all morning searching for it as a result, until your housekeeper had found it. By then, it had already been unusable, leaving you with no choice but to purchase a new one.

“Next time,” you start, turning your nose up into the air, “you can go by yourself to purchase treats for the team.”

She grins shamelessly at you, and throws an arm around your shoulder. “You’re my best friend, you know that?”

“Only when it’s convenient for you.” You sniff disdainfully, but the playful twinkle in your eyes tells her that you aren’t nearly as insulted as you pretend to be.

“Are you going to senpai’s going away party?” she suddenly asks, though she is peering at the devices on display. 

Your reply is instantaneous. There is no need to second guess it. You have already considered the answer when you had first heard about the news, so your answer comes readily. 

“No.”

There is no need to explain further. Sakuya has long known about your crush on the older boy, and she has always been understanding of your conflicting reasons regarding the situation. She has likened it to a tale of two star-crossed lovers, but you would always cringe at the cliche.

“I won’t go either, then,” she says. “We can do something fun together instead.”

“You should go.”

“No way. Who’s gonna take care of you when everyone is at his party? What if you do something drastic?”

Her overactive imagination makes you laugh, especially when she sends you a wink. Nevertheless, you persuade her to go. After all, she has known Kenta longer than you have. It wouldn’t be right for her not to see him off, just because you refuse to.

Some time after, the sales associate returns with your new device. He transfers all of your contacts to your phone, and you thank him for his help. As you leave the mobile store, Sakuya pulls you into a trendy fashion store. Somehow, she is all too good to convincing you that everything looks great on you and you return home with more purchases than you had intended on making.

By mid-afternoon, you are organizing your closet to make room for your new pieces. It is difficult deciding what to replace them with, even with your best friend’s assistance.

In the midst of your organizing, your phone rings. Since she is closer to the exit of your walk-in closet, Sakuya offers to grab your phone for you. But when she does, it is with a confused expression.

“It’s not a registered number,” she says. “Do you still want to answer it?”

It’s strange. The employee had told you that he did set up your phone and recovered your contact for you, so you do not understand why there might be an unknown caller. Nevertheless, you move to grab the phone, and answer it anyway.

“Hello,” the other person says. “I tried to call you yesterday, but it seemed your phone was off.”

You recoil in surprise. Across from you, Sakuya raises her hands into the air, as if inquiring who it is. 

Rather than not recognizing the voice, it is that you _do_. 

“Sorry, I had a bit of trouble with my phone earlier,” you reply. “Is everything alright, Akashi-kun?”

Her eyes go wide here, and you watch as she picks up a cushion and hugs it to her chest as she makes herself comfortable on a chair in your closet. You roll your eyes at her. Ever since she found out about your relationship with the other boy, she had teased you endlessly about the nature of your peculiar relationship. Her feminine-instincts, as she says it, tells her that there is more to the picture than either you or she truly understand.

“I take it that everything is settled with your phone, then?” he asks, and you nod, then confirm his question aloud. “That’s good. Actually, I wanted to know if you were busy for tomorrow, but it seems that something else has come up. Instead, I would like to know if you will be busy this upcoming Thursday.”

“Thursday?” you repeat. It’s the day of Kenta’s going-away party, and you’re eager for an excuse. “No, I won’t be busy that day.”

“I will pick you up at 10 in the morning, then,” he says. You laugh soundlessly at his decisive personality, but do not refute. 

“What do you have in mind, Akashi-kun?”

“Some old friends would like to get together. It seems that they will like to welcome me back to Kyoto, but before that, I would like to pick up a gift at the mall. Your company would be very much appreciated that day.”

You are not sure if you want to intrude on a reunion between old friends, but when you voice it aloud, Akashi shuts you down. He does not mind, and therefore, his friends will not either. 

It is true that you have been seeing more and more of the red-headed boy over these past few months, but it is also true that your relationship has not progressed significantly. You two are not quite close enough to be considered friends — you still don’t think that you know enough about him to call him that without overstepping boundaries — but you are also no longer at the stage where you two would only ever to each other as family friends or acquaintances. Though, there is no denying your curiosity and respect for the older boy, and you suppose that it would not be so bad to at least try to get to know him better.

“…Alright, then. I will be ready by 10.”

The both of you carry not he conversation for a few more minutes, but just as you start to get comfortable in your chair, you notice Sakuya making strange faces. Her exaggerated expressions distract you from the conversation, and you laugh unwittingly. Akashi’s words cut short as he picks up on your laughter. You apologize immediately for the interruption, and explain to him about your company. He does not hold it against you and offers to cut the conversation short, not wanting to disturb your time with your friend. 

As soon as the line falls dead, you throw a shirt at Sakuya who laughs raucously in response while expertly dodging your attack.

“You’re such a darling,” she teases.

You huff and look away, while grabbing another piece of clothing on the ground to hang. “I don’t think it’s much different than how I interact with others.”

“No, it’s _definitely_ different,” she remarks, and, from the reflection in the mirror, you spot her strange expression. She’s being serious, you realize, as her eyebrows knit in concentration. “How should I put it… I guess it’s kind of similar to how one talks to someone of higher status than them? Like there’s that distance or barrier between you two… You’re more cautious and careful with your words, not as easy-going as you normally are. But I guess that makes sense. He _is_ a scary person. They say that Teiko won the nationals. Completely decimated their opponents, and he’s their captain, right?”

The insinuation in her words make you frown, and you can’t help but defend the other boy. “It’s just a game… He just so happens to be really good at it, that’s all. You can’t fault someone for being talented.”

Knowing how much you dislike (unfounded) gossip and rumours, Sakuya sends you a wry smile but doesn’t apologize for her words. She changes the subject and asks about your phone call. You reveal to her your plans of spending the day with him instead of attending Kenta’s going-away party, and although she protests about leaving you to yourself, you still manage to persuade her into going anyway. 

“Fine,” she says, “I’ll go, but I’m definitely going to give him a hard time for how he treated you.”

It’s not his fault, you want to protest, but Sakuya is stubborn and protective, and, you are thankful to have a friend in her.

Yet, when your fingers curl around the cool aluminium of your new phone does another thought come to mind. A mishap in your memory that you hadn’t quite placed earlier, but now that you have had time to settle down, you realize what that curiosity is. It is that you do not understand why Akashi’s phone number had shown up as unknown when you typically have your contact information backed-up. 

To begin with, you do not remember ever giving him your number. 

Akashi arrives early with a bouquet of mixed flowers. After the second and third time that he gave them to you, with Sakuya’s inconsistent explanations of their symbolisms, you came to realize that they did not carry any meaningful weight with them. His bouquets are never anything special, simply there to look pretty and to serve as decorative pieces in your household. 

You did not know why, but her explanation had bothered you, yet you quickly shook the thought away with the excuse that you must be oversensitive. Boys will be boys, she chided; they aren’t as thoughtful as one would hope. 

Looking at the colourful bouquet in your hands now, you cannot help but recall her words, though you still accept the flowers with a smile anyway, and lead him into your house. He follows respectfully, inquiring about your parents along the way and your siblings. They are out, you tell him, and he replies that is is a shame as he had wanted to offer them his greetings. 

You hand the flowers to the housekeeper and she quickly leaves to find a vase, leaving both you and Akashi in the kitchen with an arrangement of snacks already displayed.

He sits casually at the island bar while you rummage through your fridge for some drinks. And, when both of you are settled in, you lean against the kitchen counter, opposite of him, and meet his limpid gaze.

“You said that you wanted to get a gift for a friend, right? Do you have any ideas on mind?”

“I do have a few ideas,” he says, “But I would appreciate your opinion on the matter.”

Surprised that he seems to hold your opinion in such high regard, you unconsciously shift taller. He speaks expertly of his thoughts and ideas, enchanting you with his every word. It is easy to get lost amidst his calm timber, you think; a repetitive thought that has come across your mind over the years, yet still remains true with every passing day. His suggestions are all made with many reasons and although you find it difficult to discern what would be the most suitable gift, given that you do not know his friend personally, you both manage to narrow it down to a singular choice. 

Yet, just before you head out to pick up his gift, you pause, addressing him carefully and—belatedly, you realize, true to Sakuya’s assessment—cautiously. “There is something that has been bothering me…” He tilts his head, his attention wholly on you. It is unnerving, but you remain as firm as you can. “Actually, it my problem has to do with you.”

Something seems to flicker in his gaze, although you are unsure of what it is. It is fleeting, barely there, mist amidst reality and you find it difficult comprehend. If it is your imagination playing tricks on you once again, supported by the numerous rumours surrounding Akashi Seijuro and if that has instilled an underlying negativity within your subconscious. 

However, your parents have taught you better. Although the redheaded boy is said to be a person of fearsome capability, you know that your right as a person is also a certainty. Whether your eyes are deceptive or not, there is no use in living amongst fear and hesitation. You do not cower, and whether your change in disposition is of amusement to the boy or not — given that his lips twitch into a small smile — you try not to put too much emphasis on his own actions. 

“How did you get my phone number?” you finally inquire.

“What do you mean?” he asks, though his expression has not changed from that mirthful one. 

“Usually… I try to back up my phone whenever I can. When my phone was damaged the other day and I bought a new one, all of my previous contact information was successfully transferred to my new one. Yours was the only one that did not go through, and, perhaps this is rude of me, but I do not seem to recall ever exchanging numbers with you.”

His gaze is heavy upon your form, red and gold scrutinizing. Although you are not the guilty one, you feel small under his stare, and it takes all of your willpower to not look away. 

“…It must have been after I came to see your performance in Tokyo,” he explains, ever-so-simply, looking easily confident in his demeanour. You frown as your own confidence wavers once again—had you jumped to conclusions? It is hard to place the memory… “Perhaps you have forgotten, because it happened after your performance had ended. It’s understandable, of course; it was quiet a busy scene at the time, and there were many people around us.”

Is that how it was? You remain uncertain, because you _do_ remember that day. It was as Akashi said: crowded and chaotic, with many people around. It certainly is a plausible scenario, but even as you rack your memories, you find that you cannot pull out the archive for the scene that day—or ever, as a matter of fact.

As a result, you wonder if it is your memory that is faulty.

“Does it bother you?” he suddenly asks. “I understand how it might be strange. You and I were not friends for a long time, and it is understandable to wonder why I am pursuing a friendship with you now. But, that is simple: it is because I am interested in you. I was unaware of any discomfort that you might have had, and if that is the case, then I suppose that there is nothing that I can do other than take my leave.”

Even as he says these words, you notice how he does not move from his seat. His gaze locks onto yours once again, and he waits silently for your response.

You… are surprised by his answer. It is direct, you think, leaving little room for doubt or insecurity. It answers many of your own questions and hesitance without you needing to ask, and, in the end, you feel remorseful for putting him in such an awkward position.

“I’m sorry,” you apologize sincerely. “I must have misunderstood. I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions like that.”

“It’s no matter to me,” he dismisses, then asks again, “Am I making you uncomfortable?”

You… do not suppose that he is—or has ever, if you are honest.

It is true that Akashi can be cruel, if only judging from his match with Kinsei, but you cannot deny that it stems from his talent in the sport. 

It is true that his eyes can be unnerving and can often make you feel timid and little, but it is also true that he has never been anything but courteous and respectful —indifferent and aloof, yes, but never disrespectful—towards you. 

Other people have made mention of him before too, and although he has somewhat of an intimidating reputation amongst your generation and social group, the redheaded boy has never been cruel to you. 

Perhaps all of the hearsay surrounding him has blinded you, and you mentally berate yourself for the hypocrisy, before reaffirming once and for all that you would only like to judge him with your own eyes.

“No,” you state, easily and effortlessly; a heavy weight off of your chest as his lips bloom into a radiant smile. “I enjoy your company very much, Akashi-sun.”

After getting the gift for his friend, you two arrive at the amusement park. It doesn’t take you very long to meet up with his friends, but when you do, you find that the group is larger than expected. As Akashi exchanges pleasantries with them, you stray off to the side, not wanting to impose on them. 

You have met one or two of them before during formal gatherings, but, for the most part, you are unacquainted with his peers. So when your name is suddenly called his a familiar voice, you search the crowds for the owner. 

“I thought you weren’t coming,” Sakuya says, cutting through the crowd to appear in front of you.

You do not understand. “I’m here with Akashi-sun.”

Her expression matches yours, confusion written all over her face. “Don’t you know that this is Kenta’s going-away party?”

You finally notice it now, as another group emerges from the crowd, heading down the steps towards one of the rides nearby. They are laughing and jesting amongst themselves as they approach, unaware of you and Sakuya. And, amidst that crowd is a figure that makes you lose your breath. Sunlight parts through the clouds and spotlights him, and your heart plummets as someone finally notices the both of you. They shout out your names, and Kenta finally turns his gaze towards you, meeting your wide-eyed look with his own.

Your legs feel like jelly, the startling encounter casting tremors of self-doubt inside of you. Sakuya reaches for your hand, offering you her support and you vaguely hear her reassuring words of departure (“We can leave, if you want,” she says) but you shake your head at her with a half-confident smile. No, you are not confident, but what can you do? You are unable to run away; what would it solve, in the end? Aside from a memory of regret.

“Ah, you’re finally here, Kenta!” one of Akashi’s friends exclaims.

Another one chimes in as your two groups merge. “Man, it sucks that in the process of regaining our old friend, we’re losing another! You both would’ve gotten along great, I think. You’re both captains of your basketball teams, right?”

“We already know each other,” Kenta states stiffly. 

“Yes, we do,” Akashi confirms. “We played against each other a few weeks ago.”

“Really? How’d that go?” another boy asks.

“We lost,” Kenta replies, quick and curt; on edge, if you didn’t know any better. 

He grimaces at the slip-up, and looks away. Meanwhile, only Akashi smiles amongst the varying looks of sympathy. However, Kenta doesn’t linger on the negativity for long. He turns his attention to you, and it softens upon impact, but before he can greet you properly, one of your own schoolmates starts to speak.

“Are you two together?” she asks, looking between you and Akashi, recognition aflutter in her eyes, having been one of the girls that day who inquired about your relationship with the red-haired youth. 

Just as you deny the implication, Akashi confirms her response. “We are _here_ together.”

She frowns, persistent upon the topic as any other teenage girl is. His answer is reasonable enough, but leaves much room for interpretation and, once again, just as you are about to explain, another voice cuts you off. It comes from Kenta this time, whose typically room-appropriate voice sounds a touch louder—more forceful, though you surmise that it must be because of the louder crowd in the background.

“Are you feeling any better?” he asks you, “Sakuya told us that you weren’t feeling well today.”

Your best friend grimaces, caught in the act. It’s hard to ignore the curious glances bouncing between your peers, and you send her a pleading look. She takes the hint and starts to work her magic, as she shifts the attention towards the other rides and activities around the amusement part, allotting you the privacy requested. 

Yet even when everyone else leaves, Akashi stays. Why he does, you are unsure, but you do not send him away. Perhaps it is because you are admittedly too afraid to be alone again—you do not want to make a fool of yourself again, not in front of your upperclassman who has long occupied your feelings. But it is not his battle to fight, and so, you won’t allow him to interfere either as you keep your attention focused on Kenta, ignoring everything else around you.

“I… did not want to see you today,” you admit, and when the flicker of hurt flashes in his hazel eyes, you will yourself to stay strong. You do not want to lie to him. Not today; not when he is leaving and not when it is not what you want. You have never been a deceitful person, and you would only do unto others as you would want them to do unto you. 

Because you are not able to leave him your heart without leaving him questions of possibilities — “what if’s” and “why’s” and “would be, could be, should be” scenarios inside of his head. You are unable to send him away with heartbreak, and instead, you hope to send him away with something else.

From your peripheral vision, you spot Akashi’s heavy stare upon you. But once again, you are unsure of why.

“—Just as I did not want you to see me today, either.” You smile, and his hands curl by his sides as his face contorts with visible pain. But still, you continue, “I made a fool of myself the last time we met… I was… embarrassed. I wanted to be remembered as everything but that annoying underclassman.” Just as you wanted to remember him as your spring. He closes his eyes, and breathes out shakily, his body tremoring with a restraint unlike him. “—But if we are already meeting like this, then is it okay to part with some newer, more beautiful memories?”

Kenta’s eyes snap open. When he meets your gaze, unlike his own pathetically heartbroken ones, he finds that there is conviction and bravery within your eyes—the willingness to move on from a story already finished. There is no future for either of you, and to avoid the reality of such a fate would desecrate any of your beautiful memories from before.

Some things are simply best left as they are, untouched, in your memories—and perhaps that was the beauty of youth and nostalgia. Instead of leaving with a regretful tale of a love unrequited, you would like to give him a beautiful memory of innocent affections.

He wills himself a smile, swallowing the lump in his throat, and nods his head.

But courage is not gained overnight. Courage is years in the making, and even though he has temporarily borrowed yours, the sudden confrontation is admittedly a bit too much for him. He suggests that you return to the group and enjoy the rest of the day, and even though you nod your head, you don’t immediately follow after him.

He nods his head when you promise to come after a few minutes, but when he is gone, you exhale sharply. All bravado escapes you, and, if not for remembering about Akashi beside you, you are sure that you would have fallen to the floor to hold you heart.

“I’m sorry that you had to see that,” you say to him. “It must have put you in an awkward position.”

He stays silent for a moment, but his voice is calm and assuring. “You have not. On the other hand, it seems that are the one uncomfortable.”

“I’m not,” you reply, almost instantaneously. 

It is no lie because you have thought about it many times, pondered upon a chance encounter with the boy of your affections. If, by chance, you should come to meet him again one day, then you would like to let bygones be bygones, and focus on the happier memories. 

“I like Kenta,” you confess to Akashi. He does not need to know, but, you suppose that he deserves an explanation anyway. 

“But you won’t go after him.” He states, one again, assuredly. 

“I think… more than being unable to, it is that I don’t want to.” He turns, staring at you unabashedly, but you purposefully avoid meeting his gaze for fear that he might be able to see something that you cannot. Yet this is the path that you have decided on, and whether people call you foolish or not is of no consequence to your decision. “I truly, from the depths of my heart, think that this is good enough. These memories… are already ingrained within my heart, so I am happy cherishing what I already have.”

There is no use thinking of anything else. This, you have decided on a while ago.

When Akashi does not respond, you wonder if you have made him uncomfortable, and so, you apologize once more.

But, just like before, he reassures you that he is not. 

And this time, you have the feeling that there is sincerity within his words. 

You’re caught off guard amongst your friends, having loitered off to the side after the excitement of a rollercoaster ride. You’re in the middle of conversation when you receive an unexpected tap on the shoulder. Bold and yet confidently despite the many stares sent your way, Akashi only keeps you within his gaze.

“A new one,” he says simply, as he hands you a large heart-shaped plush. 

It’s not a confession, you understand, even though it is easy to assume so. Because that is all that he says as he moves past you, through the crowd of curious peers, and towards a juice stand some meet away. As though he is only the deliverer, less so a messenger, but you understand anyway. 

It is not his — this stuffed heart. There is no romantic implication behind his gesture because Akashi is not the kind of person to be easily attracted to pretty faces or pretty words. He is always more meaningful than he seams, always more caring underlying layers and layers of cruelty and mercy. He is a kind: a ruler, a dictator, a leader. But in that same line of thought, he is also a father: the man who is always doing what is best for the country, and makes the hard decisions when no one else can.

You think that you are luck to be able to witness this side of him—the one that others often miss or are unable to see at all.

This is a simple toy that he has won from the shelf, manufactured specifically for attractions, but it is new, unbroken and whole, ready to withstand everything that can be thrown its way all over again. This heart is for you to nurture and care for, and to do whatever you wish to do with it; to give to whomever you wish to give it to.

This heart is for you to replace the old, tattered and broken one with.


End file.
